


Crossbow

by roqueamadi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Post-S08E03, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: Bronn and Jaime's first encouter in Season 8.My take on what happens when Bronn and Jaime finally meet up.





	Crossbow

**Author's Note:**

> *Spoilers for the show released to date*  
> I just watched episode 3 last night, and felt like writing this - it's just my take on how it should go when Bronn and Jaime finally meet up. (I'm honestly ecstatically happy that it even looks like they will meet up at all in this season, since I had previously expected one or both of them to be killed off in the first episode!)  
> It's just a quick one-shot, but I hope you like it :)

Jaime had never been in a battle like that before.

He wasn’t badly hurt. He’d been cut and grazed and _bitten_ all over, and he’d taken two deeper cuts to his thigh and his side, but nothing fatal. Incredibly. He never thought he would live this long, and there were moments during the battle when he considered just lying down and giving up there and then, because it was impossible— _impossible—_ that he could survive this, let alone come through it relatively unharmed.

And it wasn’t just the close brush with death. It wasn’t like he hadn’t experienced _that_ before. But the blackness, and the sheer terror of the battle was new. He could see it everywhere as he limped back towards the Keep. He could see it in the eyes of everyone he passed.

He had been assigned a small room in Winterfell, after he was allowed to stay, and he was relieved to find it was still intact when he finally got back there, his whole body aching. He unlatched the door, shuffled inside, closed it behind him—

“Bronn,” he said, a smile breaking out on his face, then quickly fading. It _was_ Bronn there, lounging on the small table under the window, on the opposite side of the room. Jaime’s eyes dropped from his face to the table, where a massive, intricate and somewhat familiar crossbow sat, loaded, and pointed at him.

He looked back up at Bronn, trying to form a sensible question in his mind. “Wh—”

He cut off as Bronn suddenly moved, picking up the crossbow, his finger on the trigger. He was definitely pointing it at Jaime now. His face was steely.

Jaime sighed. “I suppose I don’t need to ask who sent you,” he said, and he turned his back to first hang his cloak on a hook, and then to crouch by the hearth to start a fire. If Bronn wanted to kill him, then he could. Jaime barely even had the energy to feel any fear—it had all been used up last night. “What did she offer you? Three castles, fifty wives? You’ll be able to enjoy them for all of two months before Daenerys takes King’s Landing.”

He heaved a log into the hearth, always awkward with one hand, and then got to his feet. When he turned, Bronn was frozen in the same position, the crossbow still trained on him.

Jaime threw up both his arms. “If you’re going to kill me, can you please get a move on; I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”

The ghost of a grin crossed Bronn’s face before he disengaged the arrow and tossed the crossbow carelessly aside. “It was worth a try,” he said lightly.

Jaime lowered his arms, watching as Bronn crossed the room to warm his hands by the fire. “What was?” Jaime asked boredly when he didn’t elaborate.

“Thought it might’ve been fun to see you beg, but you were a disappointment, as usual.”

Jaime just snorted and flopped down onto the bed, wincing as he leant forward to try to undo his boots.

“You arrived at a convenient time,” he said, with less acid then he intended.

“Aye,” Bronn agreed. “You couldn’t have paid me fifty castles to be in a battle like that.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jaime replied, quietly, and was somewhat surprised to feel that it was the truth. No one should have had to endure a battle like that. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

Bronn turned, silhouetted by the fire in the grate, and Jaime couldn’t quite read his expression when he asked, “You’re not hurt, then?”

“Not seriously.”

“And your brother?”

“He’s fine.”

“Damn. If he got killed I could’ve at least tried to take the credit for that,” Bronn said, and to Jaime’s surprise, crouched down to undo Jaime’s boots.

“Just how many people did she task you with murdering?” he asked.

“Just the two of you,” Bronn said lightly, his hand gentle on Jaime’s calf as he eased the boot off. “Paid in advance, too. So it’ll suit me nicely if your dragon queen could hurry up and deal with her. I’d like to keep that coin.”

“How much?” Jaime asked, eyeing Bronn’s belt for sign of a coin purse. He _was_ interested to know how much Cersei valued being rid of him and Tyrion.

“More than I could carry with me,” Bronn said, standing, noting the direction of Jaime’s gaze. “It’s safely stashed down south.”

“I see.”

Bronn looked mildly affronted at Jaime’s tone. “Hey, I wasn’t going to turn it down,” he said, sitting heavily next to Jaime on the mattress, then added in an undertone, “ _That_ would have gone down nicely.”

Jaime shrugged in agreement, then winced as the movement pulled at the wound in his side.

“Sure you’re alright?” Bronn asked, his voice gentler than it had been since he arrived, and Jaime looked up at him, his stomach turning over slightly.

“I— it’s just a cut,” he said, gesturing.

“Let me see.”

“It’s alright—”

Jaime tried to resist, but Bronn was tugging at his tunic, so Jaime just lifted his arms and let him pull it off, tugging at all the places blood had dried on his skin.

Bronn clicked his tongue when he saw Jaime’s body. “Why didn’t you go to the maesters?” he demanded.

“The maesters have plenty of work on their hands already, I’m fine.”

Bronn rolled his eyes before Jaime even finished his sentence, and got to his feet. “Take the rest of it off,” he said, waving at Jaime’s legs. “I’ve got some supplies here.”

He crossed the room back towards the crossbow. On the floor at the base of the table was his saddlebag. He came back with a small kit of healing supplies which Jaime recognised from their previous adventures, and the bowl of cold water which had been sitting on the table since the previous morning. Jaime managed to get his breeches off, but left his underclothes. Bronn pushed him in the shoulder until he flopped back onto the bed, and set to work cleaning Jaime’s wounds.

It hurt a little, but Jaime didn’t mind, and he was half-asleep before long, drifting in and out of consciousness between Bronn’s occasional comments on how ridiculous he was for fighting in such a battle, how good of a teacher Bronn must have been, training Jaime’s left hand, that he survived it, and how glad he was that Jaime was alright. Jaime’s eyes blinked open at that one, unsure if he’d heard correctly, but Bronn’s face was turned away, concentrating on the slice in Jaime’s thigh.

He fell properly asleep after that and only awoke hours later, lying right-ways on the bed and tucked in, the hearth still crackling warmly, the room empty, but the crossbow still sitting awkwardly where it had been discarded and not touched since.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> If there are any new readers here, hello! I have plenty of other more substantial Bronn/Jaime fics on my profile, and vids/manips/moodboards etc [on my Tumblr.](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) I haven't posted there in a while but I'm still around now and then ^_^


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